<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>No Pain, No Gain by HedwigsTalons</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22533619">No Pain, No Gain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedwigsTalons/pseuds/HedwigsTalons'>HedwigsTalons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Thunderbirds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:14:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,564</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22533619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedwigsTalons/pseuds/HedwigsTalons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gordon finds out that Olympic success can depend on more than just the time spent in the pool.</p><p>Based on the prompts 'Gordon' and 'sticky' from Gumnut who helped dig me out of a rut of zero inspiration.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No Pain, No Gain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The whistle blew and Gordon launched himself off the blocks with an explosive spring.  Powering through the water.  Timing each breath for maximum efficiency.</p><p>Turn.  Glide.  Stroke.  Breathe.  Repeat.</p><p>The drills went on, each working on a different element until his arms felt leaden from the lactic acid build up and his lungs screamed.  The final cool down and stretches came as blessed relief at the end of a long session.  </p><p>The Friday night training session always felt the hardest.  The one he had least energy for after a full week of school.  The one that made him miss most social invitations.  His friends had stopped inviting him to the cinema or on camping trips, he just didn’t have the time.  If he ever wobbled in his commitment if was on Friday nights.  The wobbles never lasted long though.  He knew he would do whatever it took to be the champion he knew he could be.  He also knew he would be back in the pool by 6am on Saturday morning, ready to train again before the public sessions started.</p><p>“Tracy!”</p><p>The commanding voice of his coach rang out across the poolside.  Gordon wondered what he had, or hadn’t, done this time to warrant an end of session summons.  Being called back wasn’t usually a good thing.  All he wanted to do was hit the showers and head home.  Instead, he draped a towel around his shoulders and headed over to find out what had raised Coach’s ire.  </p><p>“Yes, Coach?”</p><p>“Tracy, Olympic trials are coming up and there is every chance you could make the cut.”</p><p>Gordon was painfully aware that the trials were approaching.  Every session his technique was critiqued.  Every opportunity for shaving another 100th of a second off his time explored and exploited until he was comfortably within the usual qualifying time.  He was trying his hardest.  </p><p>“Yes Coach.”  Deferential.  It was generally best to just agree with Coach.  At least there was no shouting this time.  He wondered where the pep talk was going.</p><p>“Now you are in senior squad you need to be making use of every advantage you can.  You aren’t in the kiddie pool any more.  I want you to use <em>these</em>” a box was thrust into Gordon’s hand, “and I want you to use them before training tomorrow.  If you haven’t you’ll be on punishment drills before you even get to hit the water.  I <em>will</em> be able to tell.”</p><p>Gordon looked at the box in his hand and gulped.  He knew it happened in the sport but he hadn’t ever considered it as an option for himself.  He felt deeply uncomfortable about the idea but knew he would have to trust his Coach.  It was just another tool.  He tried telling himself it was no different to the other elements Coach had added to his regime; the gym sessions, the kale smoothies and the yoga.  He thrust the box to the bottom of his kit bag next to the bottles of foul tasting isotonic drink; another training aid his coach insisted on.</p><p>Outside the pool Gordon headed over to the cycle racks.  That was the other killer to the Friday evening sessions, the ride home.  The distance between home and the pool always felt longer on a Friday night than at any other time.</p><p>“Hey Gordo, fancy a lift?”</p><p>Like an angel in plaid there was Virgil, leaning against the old farm pickup truck.  His older brother was studying at Denver School for Advanced Technology and Gordon was surprised to see him home in the middle of the semester.</p><p>“Virgil, what are you doing here?”</p><p>“A few classes got cancelled giving me a long weekend so I thought I’d come back for a visit.  So are you getting in or what?”</p><p>Gordon’s bike was slung in the back of the pickup and Gordon himself slumped gratefully in the front seat.  With his three older brothers all either at university of in the Air Force, and his father often having to work late, rides home were few and far between.  </p><p>Of all his brothers Virgil was perhaps the easiest to get along with.  Less intense than Scott.  Less serious than John.  He enjoyed these moments when it was just the two of them, despite the age gap.  There was something about Virgil that always made you feel like you were enough.  There was no competition.  Just quiet, unassuming acceptance.</p><p>By the time the short drive was over he had begun to seize up.  That was the one disadvantage of lift home over cycling.  His normal slow ride home acted as an extended cool down, giving his muscles time to loosen gradually after the brutal training sessions. </p><p>“Looks like you had a tough session tonight.”</p><p>Gordon could only nod his agreement.</p><p>“Go and take long bath or something.  Alan’s at a friend’s and Grandma and Dad are both out so dinner won’t be for a while yet.  You might want to take a snack with you.”</p><p>Gordon gratefully complied with Virgil’s suggestion.  A long soak could be just thing to ease his tired muscles.  He grabbed a couple of celery crunch bars on his way through the kitchen to refuel and keep him going until a more substantial meal was available.</p><p>Safely locked in the bathroom Gordon finally felt brave enough to investigate the box from his coach.  He carefully read the instructions, then read them a second time just to make sure he would get it right.  He pulled a patch out of the box and carefully applied it to his thigh as per the directions.  Then, grabbing the edge of the patch, he yanked back with all his might.  </p><p>He swore.  Loudly.</p><p>Running footsteps thudded up the stairs swiftly followed by pounding on the bathroom door.</p><p>“Gordon!  Are you ok in there?”  </p><p>“I’m fine.”  Unfortunately for Gordon there was a slight whimper in his voice.  There was no way he was fooling Virgil.</p><p>“You clearly are <em>not</em> fine.  Open up Gordon.  What’s up?”</p><p>“Honestly Virg, I’m fine.”</p><p>“Look.  It’s just me here.  Let me in.  I’ll bust the door if I have to.”</p><p>Gordon knew this was no idle threat from Virgil.  He might be the gentle giant of the family but the man was built like a tank and he had no qualms about using his bulk if he thought one of his brothers needed him.  The bathroom lock had been fixed at least twice that Gordon knew of when Virgil felt the need to chase down brothers who had hidden away in an attempt to tend secret wounds alone.</p><p>Gordon unlocked the door and opened it a crack.  Virgil was stood outside, arms folded.</p><p>“See, I’m fine.”</p><p>The folded arms were joined by a raised eyebrow.</p><p>“So why are your eyes watering and what is that red mark on your leg?”</p><p>Damn that guy didn’t miss a thing.  Gordon wished he’d grabbed a bigger towel to wrap around his waist.  When the foot tap started Gordon knew there was no point delaying the inevitable any more.  He opened the door fully.</p><p>Virgil’s eyes were drawn to the bright pink box perched on the edge of the sink.</p><p>“Waxing strips?”</p><p>Gordon cast his eyes to the floor, wishing the ground would swallow him up.</p><p>“Um, yeah.  Coach insisted.  Gotta be smooth by training session tomorrow.”</p><p>“The price of being a champ, eh?”</p><p>“Something like that” Gordon muttered.  “Turns out those things sting like a bitch.  I don’t think I can do it.”</p><p>“Do you want to do it?”  </p><p>The question was calm.  No pressure.  No derision.  That’s was Virgil all over.  Sure there were times when he could tease but he also sense when his brothers were at their most vulnerable and knew when to hold back.  </p><p>Gordon nodded.  </p><p>“So how much has to go?”</p><p>A gulp.  “Everything outside the trunks.”</p><p>“Makes sense.  Reduce the friction.”  Trust Virgil to see it in terms of engineering.  He picked up the box and gave the instructions a quick read.  “Need a hand?  Just like ripping off a plaster it’s probably easier if someone else does it.”</p><p>Gordon looked up, finally able to meet his brother’s eye.  He realised Virgil was deadly serious.  Of all the people to be caught by he realised Virgil was a blessing in disguise.  He nodded gratefully.  Virgil would get the job done quickly and efficiently. </p><p>“Thanks.  I’ll, um, go and grab some fresh trunks.”</p><p>Virgil watched as Gordon crossed the hallway to his bedroom then returned, towel discarded, wearing his speedos.</p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>“As much as I’ll ever be.”</p><p>It wasn’t the way he expected to start his weekend off, Virgil reflected, as he ripped off strip after strip.  He certainly wouldn’t be telling his friends that he had waxed his little brother or even the other members of the family.  This was a moment to be kept between the pair of them.  A moment that would turn out to be repeated every few weeks.  Whenever Gordon’s legs and chest needed a touch up Virgil would try and schedule a weekend at home to lend a hand.  Virgil hated the task, hated being the one responsible for Gordon’s screwed up face and bitten back expletives but it was better than leaving his sibling to face the task alone.  It was just another sacrifice they both made in the quest for Olympic gold.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>